The Sorrows of Saint Valentine
by Cadence Claire
Summary: Draco Malfoy is captured after the final battle. Harry Potter will do anything to get him back. Established HD written with an air of Kerouacian spontaneity. Disregards the last two novels.


**The Sorrows of Saint Valentine**

**Cadence Claire**

**Disclaimer: Characters and world go to Jo.**

**AN: This is a side plot bunny that will not go away. If you're reading Scheherazade, don't worry, although the next chapter is taking me a titch longer to get out than expected I am well on my way to completing it. Please review. It really does make my night.**

**----**

"Come inside, Draco."

"I'm not in the rain."

"No, but I want you inside. Please."

Draco could not ignore Harry when he spoke in that slow, pleading tone that said something had just gone very, horribly wrong.

"Of course," said Draco, turning and placing his hand in Harry's cold one. "Rooms?"

"Please."

"Please." Draco repeated it under his breath. He loved the way Harry said please. It was like he was saying yes and thank you and I Love You all in the same gasp.

They did not talk as they climbed a spiral staircase in what Draco assumed was Ravenclaw tower. He had never bothered to find out exactly where he and Harry shacked up. All Draco knew was that he did get to shack up with Harry and that was really all that was worth knowing. Harry probably knew where they were in the castle. Harry was good at knowing things like that.

Harry was also good at things like knowing that if he kissed Draco right behind his ear he would cause a shiver to go up and down the other man's spine. Harry was good at knowing things like Draco never shared his white chocolate with anyone. Harry was good at knowing things like even Slytherins needed hugs and cuddles during war time. Harry was good at things like knowing how to love Draco.

Harry whispered a spell and the heavy wooden door clicked quietly closed behind Draco. Before he could even flip on the lamps Draco's arms were full of a clammy, shivering brunette.

"Who?"

"Dean."

Draco could feel Harry's rough fingers wrinkle his cashmere sweater into the shape of fists, but he could not bring himself to care. All he cared about Harry who was hurting and when Harry hurt Draco hurt. So they were both hurting and, contrary to popular opinion, Draco did not pay attention to his clothing when he was hurting.

"Tell me about it," said Harry.

"From the beginning?"

"Please," said Harry.

"Well, I suppose we'll travel first," said Draco, steering Harry and himself backwards towards the fluffy couch.

"Where to?" The question came from somewhere around Draco's shoulder.

"Oh, I don't know," Draco mused aloud, flopping back onto the couch and settling Harry on top of him, "Morocco, for starters. Never been there. Then I think the States, but not that boorish middle part with all the chickens and whatnot. We'll go to the California's and the New York's. The glittery bits."

"I like that. Tell me more." Harry's voice had grown tighter.

"Asia. China. Japan. North Korea, South if we have the time, which of course we will, we'll have all the time in the world, you and me, so we should just plan on South as well from the starting point."

"All right," said Harry with a half-hearted chuckle.

"Eventually we'll get tired of that though. We'll want to settle a bit. We'll come back to England, because I love my grey skies and you love your English Breakfast. Where can you get better English Breakfast than in England, hm?"

"I don't know."

"That's because you can't get better tea anywhere. You'll want a picket fence, because you're quaint like that, but me, I'll want a high rise, urban, expensive looking metal thing. So we'll compromise. You'll let me buy my penthouse and I'll let you put a picket fence on the deck."

"Prat," said Harry.

"Do you want to know the best part about it?"

"Please."

"No one will be fighting anymore," said Draco, nuzzling the side of his face into Harry's hair. "I won't have to worry that every time I kiss you it might be the last time I get to kiss you. I'll know that you're safe, tucked away next to your picket fence. I won't have to say goodbye to you anymore. I'll only have to say hello to you, but that won't be as much of an I'll have to as it is more of an, I will want to say hello to you so I will without any other nasty negative bits tacked on at the end. You know?"

"Draco?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you back," whispered Draco.

"I'm tired."

"Then sleep."

"I don't know if I can," said Harry, his voice heavy.

"Nonsense. Of course you can. I'm here and you can do anything if I'm here," said Draco, trying to infuse his words with that cocky sort of confidence he knew made Harry melt just a little bit.

"Yes," Harry agreed quietly, settling further into Draco's hold.

Draco conjured a heavy comforter and floated it onto Harry to help chase away his chills. After a while, Harry's breathing evened and although the side of his face twitched every few minutes in what could have been pain, exhaustion or mere reflex Draco still thought he was beautiful.

By Merlin, he was in love.

----

During the day, during business, they kept it quiet.

Everyone knew there was something between the Potter boy and the Malfoy boy, but it was not openly acknowledged until battle plans had been stashed for the day. It was better that way. Lucius always told Draco not to mix business with pleasure. It was one of the few things Draco ever listened to his father on.

Today, today though, it was hard. Draco could not help himself from stealing whispers of what might have been called caresses when he thought other people were not paying full attention. Harry's eyes were bloodshot and underlined with small, half-moon purple smudges from stress and lack of sleep. Harry's hair was messy and long to the point where it covered the tops of his ears. Harry's skin was washed out, no longer bronze from the sunlight, but pasty from working under wand light and playing under moon light. Despite Harry's haggard, worn appearance Draco found him quite edible.

They had woken up far too early that morning in Draco's fair and honest opinion. Of course, any morning where he had to pry himself away from Harry and pretend he did not care for a good twelve hours was too early for him. For some reason, some odd reason, today was harder. It worried Draco. It worried Draco that he was worried. It seemed to be worrying Harry that Draco was worried. Draco smiled to himself – they picked up on each other like that.

It was not Dean's death. Deaths happened too often for them to cause too significant of a shift in the everyday proceedings. No, it was not Dean. It was not himself and Harry, either. Paradise was still paradise. No storm clouds there. Storm clouds. There was going to be thunder tonight, Draco could tell. His hair was frizzing and when his hair frizzed it meant there was going to be thunder and lightning and rain and that meant hot chocolate and blankets and cuddles. Draco found himself feeling glad it was going to storm.

----

"Have you calmed down yet?" Weasley asked.

"Hm?" Draco hummed.

"You're a flighty git, did you know that? You've been jumpy all day and now you won't pay attention. I don't like that – "

"Ron, please don't," said Harry, rubbing his temples. "Not right now."

"Sure, mate," said Weasley. Draco respected that he would not press Harry too far. That was the only reason Draco tolerated the ginger headed menace.

This respect, however, did not stop the Weasel from shooting Draco a withering glance.

"Later," Weasley mouthed across the table.

"Later," Draco mock mouthed back, miming a gagging motion with his finger.

"You too, Draco. Not right now," said Harry, this time with a pinch of a smile in the corners of his mouth.

Draco kissed Harry on the cheek.

"Would you not do that in front of me?"

"What? This?"

Draco kissed Harry's cheek again.

"Ugh," said Weasley.

"My, Weasley, are you a homophobe?"

"Hey! I am not. I just – "

"Ron," said Hermione, who until now had been impassively watching the exchange, "he's just trying to rile you."

"Draco," said Harry, tugging on his sweater sleeve, "I have a headache. Will you go upstairs with me?"

"Of course," said Draco. He dropped his fork, sent one last glance at Weasley and pushed himself out of the bench and set off after Harry.

"It doesn't hurt that bad," said Harry once they had reached the hallway, "just little twinges."

An impish gleam entered those green eyes Draco loved so much.

"Want to go have sex?" Harry asked.

"Only if you say please," said Draco.

"Please?"

Draco loved the way Harry said please.

----

Draco was right. There was a storm with thunder and lightning and rain and the whole bit. A dark and stormy night. A dark and stormy night where Draco and Harry burrowed under the covers.

"Burrow burrow burrow," Harry said as he wiggled under the mounds of fabric.

"What are you? Three?"

"No, I'm in love," said Harry.

"Aw, how utterly sappy and completely corny," said Draco in return.

"I know," said Harry in a proud sort of voice.

"What's gotten into you?"

"I don't know. I just feel content right now. Happy. Almost like there isn't a war going on," said Harry.

"I'm glad," said Draco. And he meant it. He really, really meant it. "You should sleep while you still feel like that."

"But if I sleep then I won't feel like this again in the morning."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," said Draco.

"But – "

"Sleep," whispered Draco against Harry's lips. "Sleep and I'll be right here holding you when you wake up and if you don't feel like you do right now then I'll blow you to make up for it."

"And if I do feel this way?"

"Then I'll blow you anyway, because I'm a nineteen year old bloke and we're good like that."

"Night, Draco."

"Goodnight, love."

----

Harry cooed while he slept. Soft, humming noises in the back of his throat that Draco decided on some nights were a lullaby and on other nights just a right pain in the arse. Tonight was the sort of night where Draco heard Harry's coos as a lullaby, but no matter how long that lullaby played he knew he would not get any sleep.

Sometimes you just know these things.

Draco was not quite sure what time it was when Harry shot forward with his hands pressed to his forehead and a silent scream upon his parted lips. Draco did know, however, that no matter what time it was when this, Harry's pain, occurred it was not a good thing. Not a good thing for the Order, the War, Harry or even Draco himself.

"He's here," panted Harry.

Draco sat, stunned into inaction as Harry scrambled out of bed and ran to the closed curtains.

"Don't open them," shouted Draco before Harry could move the fabric. "If he's here I don't want him to see you."

"He's here, Draco. He's here. He's right out there," said Harry rapidly, sweat on his forehead, wringing his hands.

"Shit," Draco swore, stumbling out of bed and over to Harry, pulling him close. "Shit."

Harry held him tight so very, very tight, while in the background the sound of something heavy falling shook the walls.

Hermione's patronus bounded into the room right then and Draco let go of any pretenses that he was only stuck in a temporary nightmare.

Harry pulled away and a little part of Draco pulled away with him.

Shaky, stumbly, stiff. Draco watched as Harry dressed himself in clothes that were blacker than black. Draco himself did nothing to prepare. He stood, stock still he stood, and watched the man he loved prepare to face his possible doom. How was anyone supposed to function in a situation like this one? They were not they were not they were not. Because it was impossible for Draco to stand there and watch Harry in this moment when he was still so alive and warm and _there_, but what if Draco turned his back? What if Harry was not there when he turned back around?

War had made him melodramatic. Draco readily admitted to this, but it had also brought him Harry. Weasley called their relationship sappy and fluffy and fake. Draco called it the complete and total bliss of knowing that you had finally found a place you belonged above all others. Harry was the one who opened his arms to him when he first defected and every night after that. It was Harry who Draco would always love.

If Harry wanted time, Draco would give him time. If Harry wanted to screw around, then Draco would let him screw around. If Harry was afraid it was not going to work, then Draco would give him the space he needed to make up his mind.

Draco had given Harry all these things and Harry had come back and oh merlin how great it had felt to get him all the way back and to know just know that he was never going to leave again because how could you leave someone you had left and come back to because if you had come back it meant that you really wanted that person in the first place so he had no reason to worry because that man standing over there in the black loved him loved him loved him for positive for sure for truth and oh my he might lose that just now he might lose that for good for ever for

"Draco?"

Draco jumped a little.

"Draco? Are you all right?"

Harry moved so he had a hand on each of Draco's shoulders, squeezing tight.

"Baby? Talk to me."

Draco saw fear, insurmountable fear, shining in Harry's green eyes.

"I'm ready."

Harry nodded.

"Me too."

Harry watched Draco get ready in much the same way that Draco had watched him. That empty sort of detached attachment. Harry's memory of their first cuddle, first kiss, first fuck all flew by his head like he imagined they would in a muggle cinema.

Harry had begged Dumbledore to keep Draco away from the fight. Actually, screamed, pleaded, sobbed would be more accurate of a description. If Harry died, that was okay. If Draco died, that was not.

At first, the Order had tried to separate them, afraid that they would provide too much distraction to each other. Harry had finally agreed to let Draco fight, but only if it was next to him.

It was that thought, the thought that Harry would be there to stop anything from hurting Draco, which made the situation they currently found themselves in just the tiniest bit all right.

But Harry had not been able to protect Draco.

Harry tried, so valiantly he tried, and he won. He beat the bastard and Draco was still standing up next to him and the Death Eaters were surrendering.

Harry felt pure bliss. He felt pure bliss when he looked over at Draco and saw his strained but glowing face, eyes full of pride and love. He felt pure bliss when one by one he saw people he cared about come back from the battle, scraped and scratched but really when you thought about the situation quite all right.

"Harry!"

Harry turned away from Draco and hugged Hermione who had thrown herself in her arms.

"Oh, I am so proud of – "

Her voice died.

"Hermione?"

"No." The whisper fell from her lips.

Harry realized her eyes were focused at the spot behind him where Draco had been standing.

He tore Hermione off of him and whipped around.

Draco was holding a hand to his chest, his bleeding chest. A man with a black mask held one hand to Draco's throat, the other hand grasping a portkey at his side.

Harry ran as hard and as fast and with as much passion as he could.

"Draco!" He screamed, his voice desperate and afraid.

Draco's eyes met his, now so full of pain and once again, fear.

Draco struggled.

The man punched Draco across the jaw.

Harry roared.

The portkey glowed a sinister red.

Harry ran harder.

Draco looked like he was falling, but then…

He was gone. The portkey had activated. Draco and the man were gone.

Harry dropped to his knees and cried.


End file.
